Tiger Wings
by Madam Pudifoot
Summary: A bully leaves young Jack with no choice but to steal from the Pirata Codex in order to retrieve his beloved knife. Jack learns more than a few lessons, including how to spot the opportune moment. A colab with mary684, inspired by Florencia7's drabble.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a collaboration between myself and the fabulous mary684, of LiveJournal. If you have a love of all things Teague, like we do, then do yourself a favor and check out her fics! Any comments left here will also be passed on to her, but if you read any of her stories at LJ, please take a moment to leave a review!  
**

**Her fic index can be found here: http:^^mary684*livejournal*com^35600*html (Just replace the ^ with / and the * with . as FFNET doesn't do links, apparently.)**

**Authors:** mary684 and madam_pudifoot

**Characters:** Young Jack (age 8), Teague, Sala, Mister Smithson and a handful of miscreants.

**Disclaimer:** We own nothing. We don't even own this universe, as it's an odd mish-mash of each of our worlds, but we're as content as cucumbers to play in it.

**AN:** We owe a huge thanks to **Florencia7**, whose drabble, A Family Night, was the sole inspiration for this piece. It can be found here: http:^^florencia7*livejournal*com^41499*html

* * *

**Tiger Wings**

**Part One**

Humid could not begin to describe the soggy air that hung over the Cove. There was no air to speak of. The morning sun reddened the clouds, heralding a brewing storm. Jack was a late arrival. Not quite an hour since breakfast and already his skin was clammy and his shirt stuck to his back. The others were laughing over some story Mickey Kitchell had been telling. Their cheerful banter greeted Jack, and Pete filled him in on the day's plan. They hoped to ride out the coming storm in one of the larger caves that dotted the cliffs on the western side of the Cove.

Something caught Pete's eye and he stopped mid-sentence. At the same time, Mickey Kitchell whistled – a sharp intake of breath. Kenny Freeling had come round the corner and with one fierce look killed their idle banter. For a long moment, they stared at him, grim reality settling on their shoulders. It was no secret that Freeling's father was a drunk, and also no secret that when he took to drinking, Kenny and his brother bore the brunt of his sodden ire.

Kenny's face was cut, his eye swollen; a blood vessel within it had burst, coloring it raw and angry, and a puffy bruise was bluing along his jaw. As far as beatings went, this was one of the worse they'd seen, and for pirate's sons, that was saying something. Kenny glared at them, daring them to speak a word against his father. And then, as if by some silent consensus, they realized what they were doing, broke into false laughter and resumed their conversation.

Jack should have moved away from him. At the very least hid himself behind the others, out of reach and unnoticed, a safe distance from Freeling. But something about Kenny's bloody eye reminded him of gutted fish, and he couldn't keep from gawking.

It didn't take long for Freeling to feel Jack's stare upon him. He gave Jack the once-over and a slow smirk creased his face.

"Gimme your knife," Freeling said, gesturing with his chin toward Jack's hip, where the prized knife poked out from its sheath.

"Huh?" Jack asked, surprised.

Freeling answered with a punch. It was too swift for Jack to turn away; he caught it full force in the belly. Winded, he toppled backward, sprawling along the dock and banging the back of his head – hard – along the gangway. In years to come, he will hear the term 'sucker punch' and think back upon this moment. But now, with his cheek resting against the damp wood and the distant thunder rumbling, he knew only the hollow sickness of his stomach.

"I said: gimme your knife. D'ya hear me now?" Freeling grinned while the others laughed, a nervous edge in their boys of the Cove had long been envious of Jack. Teague had an honest job (albeit a pirate one), therefore, it must follow that Jack lived a privileged life inside Teague's household. This, coupled with the knowledge that Teague would not come to Jackie's rescue, made Jack an easy target; he was vulnerable and, more oft than not, bloody.

It wasn't that he wouldn't fight back**;** he was, in fact, quite scrappy and, much to Teague's chagrin, had not only landed his share of blows, but had delivered a respectable dose of damage. However, left to his own devices, Jack would rather skirt fisticuffs in favor of courting mischief. This also played against his favor. Ever distracted by potential adventure, he was often the last to catch the mood of the crowd he ran with and therefore, subject to its churlish pleasure.

Kenny reached down and pulled Jack's knife from its sheath and flipped it end over end before hefting it in his hand.

Jack scrambled to standing and reached for it. "You can't! 'Tis mine!"

Kenny straightened to his full height, towering a full head over Jack.

"Can and did. And lest you be mistaking yourself in future, let me clarify – 'tis mine."

In retrospect, Jack realized he should have let it pass. Wait for another day to take on Kenny, a day when his recent beating wasn't so raw, a day when Kenny might be more inclined to reason. At the very least, a day when Jack had taken the time to plan, rather than act upon his impulse.

Somewhere in the back recesses of his brain, Jack heard the Keeper's voice recommending caution. Then, a flash of lightning fried the air, and Teague's warning was lost to the weather. Jack clenched his fists and took a step toward Kenny.

Kenny smacked Jack in the mouth with the flat of his palm – one quick blow that split Jack's lip. Thunder boomed, and it began to sprinkle. Several of the boys took off for cover, and the few remaining edged away from Jack, making it clear he was on his own.

"Bugger off, Sparrow. He nearly killed Cullen. Next time he comes at me…"

Kenny's voice broke and the other boys fell silent. A chill went down Jack's spine. Teague had gifted Jack the knife for his eighth birthday with orders to use it well. If his knife were to inflict a fatal wound upon Kenny Freeling's father**,** Teague would surely kill him.

"I'll trade ya for it," Jack sputtered, breathless with fear. Lightning flashed and with the ominous clap of thunder, the heavens opened, scattering the boys to the caves, leaving only Jack and Kenny on the pier.

"What have you to offer, runt?" Freeling hollered. "Will you kill him for me?"

With that he turned to go. Jack's mind spun. There had to be a way to regain his knife.

"The CODE!" Jack shouted, a triumphant smile further splitting the cut on his lip.

"What?"

"I'll take you to see the Codex."

Kenny laughed, a vile sound that snorted through his nose.

"Your da would beat you bloody."

Kenny had a valid point. Jack had shared, and on more than one occasion, stories ofTeague's fanatical guardianship of the Code Book. Every one of them knew Jack had seen it only once and had never been allowed to touch it.

"I swear. You give me the knife; I'll take you to the Codex."

With a sly smile, Kenny wiped the rain from his face and squinted at Jack. "Nay. You want the knife? You bring me the Code."

_Bugger._


	2. Chapter 2

**Tiger Wings**

**Part Two**

For the better part of an hour, Jack sat in a recessed corner of the hull; the worn timber rough against his back. An occasional tear slipped from his eye and he swiped at it, irritated. Through the boards, he could make out the sound of drizzling rain; it calmed him while he weighed his options.

Teague was a shark; the first thing he'd notice was the missing knife. For as long as Jack could remember, the knife had been a prized relic. Teague kept it in his boot, and though he rarely used it, its value to him was evident. Many a winter's night, when the cool breezes caused enough pain to keep his arthritic fingers from the guitar, the old pirate would clean salt from the blade with a rag dipped in lamp oil. On these nights, Sala would encourage Teague to share stories of his childhood. On the eve of his eighth birthday, Teague shuffled into Jack's chamber and laid the knife on his bed. "Time you took over its keep, Jackie. 'Tis the only thing left of me da. He'd want you to have it."

Jack sighed. Teague would never forgive the loss of the knife, nor would Teague ever trust him with anything so fine again. Jack had little choice, but to do as Kenny asked, and deliver the Code. He felt he had a fair shot at getting in and out of the Library without being seen. He often wandered into places he didn't belong and managed to keep himself well hidden. With a bit of luck, it would be years before Teague noticed a page or two was missing.

He took a deep breath. It was time to get moving.

His clothes were still damp from running home in the rain; he hadn't thought to change them. As he climbed upward toward the family quarters, the humid air clawed at him, and his breathing became labored. He paused a moment before the great door and tried to catch his breath before knocking. The familiar squeak of rusty hinges and scraping wood terrified him. He was home – the safe haven he would soon besmirch with perfidy. He shuddered.

Smithson's eyes flicked over him, and with a quick glance into the dark space beyond, ushered him in. As he passed by Smithson, Jack ducked his head, hiding his split lip. Mister Smithson had an uncanny knack for sniffing out mischief, and Jack's shoulders tensed as he walked past him.

"Where ya headed, lad?" the older man questioned as Jack ambled in a direction opposite his own room.

"See my ma." Jack said and continued on his way, forcing himself to ease his gait and adopt a nonchalance he didn't feel. He felt Smithson's eyes zero in on his back, but Teague's former quartermaster said nothing.

He slowed as he came near the Library. From the bedchamber, he could hear the faint sound of Sala's singing. The ribald shanty was one of Teague's favorites, and sung in her lilting voice, it took on the melody of a lullaby. Jack smiled. His mother was, in all things, a lady, though there was no mistaking Teague's influence on her. Jack wished he could take a moment to surprise her and enjoy her embarrassment.

All too soon, he was in front of the Library door. He'd give anything to continue on his way and visit Sala in her chamber. She'd coddle him and coo over his lip and admonish in the tender way she had of making him feel foolish, but unlike Teague, not stupid. His nose burned as hot tears again sprung to his eyes, and a fierce anger began to churn in his stomach. He'd make Kenny pay for this.

A glance back proved Smithson had forgotten him, and Jack turned his attention to the door. The ancient wood was worn smooth around the handle; it felt warm to his touch. He held his breath and listened. No sound, save that of Sala's singing. He slipped the latch and the door eased open.

How many days had he stood in this spot wondering what lock and key protected the Codex? Had it always been this simple? Slip the latch and enter?

He looked around the corridor one last time, took a breath and entered.

The room was dark, lit only by the port-holed window and the spill from the open door. The ceiling was higher than he remembered and the chandelier smaller. Soundlessly, he shut the door and the room grew even darker. Kept closed most of the time, the air inside was chilly and dry. Jack shivered in his damp clothes.

He took two steps and stopped, terrified to realize his footsteps echoed in the vast chamber. Using a lighter tread, he set off again; this time satisfied he would escape notice.

As he hoped, the Codex was where he had expected, centered on Teague's mahogany desk. Outside, the sound of thunder rumbled as another line of storms advanced toward the Cove. Sporadic lightning flashed at the port window illuminating the text.

It was beautiful. A fine hand had scribed the passage; the flowing script was large and formed with an artistic flourish. By some small miracle, which at the time Jack accredited to fate and later to cosmic folly, the page before him held the secret of concocting poison from Jamaican rum and powder. Jack mumbled a prayer to providence. If Kenny Freeling was intent on murder – why not by means of poison?

With a finger along its spine, Jack tore out the page, careful to tug gently on the parchment lest he ruin the very thing he came to steal.

Jack eyed his find appreciatively, holding it up to the light to better admire the worn parchment. He grinned triumphantly, congratulating himself on a job well done as he folded the dirty scroll and casually tucked it into his belt. A heist worthy of the most notorious rogues, to be certain – it took a different breed to steal from the Keeper of the Code.

Just then a click sounded from beyond the chamber; a series of rough clangs, then the unmistakable squeak of rusty hinges and the scraping of wood in the distance.

_Not good!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Tiger Wings**

**Part Three**

Jack could feel his stomach drop to the floor, along with what was left of his courage. The library was situated in the middle of the hull, and he'd be spotted if he tried to leave now. If Smithson didn't tan his hide, Teague surely would.

He glanced about the room, seeking any sort of an escape; alas, there was but one way in, one way out. He entertained the idea of jumping out the small port window, but he quickly cast the idea aside – he'd never make it in time.

He spun around, desperately seeking out some place to hide – the desk had a clear view from the door and would never do; the heavy curtains were also out of the question, as his toes would peek out and surely give him away.

Footsteps neared the library, steady and deliberate – Teague. A sharp knot formed in Jack's gut, and he inhaled deeply to keep from whining at the discomfort. If Teague ever caught him – nay – ever_ guessed _at what he'd done… Well, Jack preferred not to think on that just yet.

The steps ended just outside the doorway. Jack's eyes continued to scour the room, working so rapidly that he nearly felt woozy. Then he saw it: a table had been pushed back against the starboard wall, so laden with books, papers, bottles and rubbish that it seemed unremarkable. A thick cloth was draped over it, brushing the floor. The perfect hiding spot!

Jack dived, landing hard on his stomach. Dust flew from the impact, but he ignored it, crawling on his belly until his nose was to the wall. He twisted, pulling his knees to his chest, breath so shallow it was painful.

For a minute, the world was agonizingly quiet; the only sound the hammering of his heart. And then the footsteps faded away, headed towards the bedchamber. Jack let out a sigh of relief, body going lax. _That was too close!_

A clap of thunder went off beyond the hills, still at sea. The sound gave him a stroke of confidence, knowing that his escape would go unnoticed with the coming storm.

Jack sat back on his haunches, cautiously checking his person for his treasure, only assured after pulling the tattered scrap from his belt and waving it before his eyes. He tucked it away once more and then made to duck out of his shelter, but was stopped by a soft treading sound.

Jack would've sworn if he could.

Numerous rips and holes lined the tablecloth, and from his position he could make out vague shapes and a small patch of light against the floor. The door was out of his line of sight, but part of the desk was visible – a pair of bare feet stood before it.

It seemed that his opportune moment had passed him by.

Jack strained to make out the sound of pages turning. His heart throbbed against his chest and suddenly there didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the room. He wanted to gasp for air, but he was worried that the sound of his breathing was already too loud.

The riffling stopped and silence pressed on around him, constricting so tightly that Jack couldn't breathe at all. He watched as Teague idly turned. He didn't need to see the pirate's face to feel those predator's eyes searching the room, their gaze a piercing heat.

Jack carefully pressed closer to the wall, cringing as his sweaty hands peeled from the floor with an audible suction. He was certain that Teague could hear the faint rustling of his clothes and the booming _thrub-dub_ of his heart.

As he steeled himself for flight, Jack silently prayed to the Gods that Teague had left the door open. He grit his teeth as Teague advanced towards the table, pace so slow that Jack knew he was only doing it to intimidate him.

It was working.

The cloth lifted, Jack's panic rising with it. Fear paralyzed him momentarily, but his senses quickly returned. Jack sprang forward, only to be shoved back roughly, his head knocking against the floor. His vision swam and he had to struggle to recall which way was up.

"What are you about?" a dark voice asked, hovering somewhere near his feet.

"Nothing," he said instinctively, sitting up on his elbows. The cloth had been pulled back and his father kneeled before him, one elbow resting against his knee. He didn't look pleased – but then, he rarely did.

"Been fighting again," Teague said, eyes narrowed. "Ran away, did you?"

Jack's cheeks flushed in indignation, though it did nothing to ease his fears. "No." He licked his raw lip, still ripe with the metallic tang of blood.

"Then why are you lurking about under the table like a ship's rat?"

The suspicion in Teague's voice caused Jack to deflate, instantly wishing he'd gone along with the story – it would've been easier to lie his way out of it.

"Were just looking for my hat," he replied, smiling innocently. He knew Teague wouldn't be best pleased with the answer, but it was the lesser of two evils.

"And why is it under my table?"

Jack shifted uncomfortably, "Things have a way of turning up places, sir." There was little chance in Teague believing him, but so long as he didn't discover the truth of the matter, it was of no consequence.

Teague gave him a cross look, thin lips curling into a slight frown. He then took a half step back, still crouched down, beckoning Jack with a knobby finger.

It was difficult to swallow around the lump that had formed in his throat, but Jack knew to disobey a direct order from his fatherwould have serious repercussions.

He twisted awkwardly, mindful to keep one hand close to his belt – his knee bent up as he scooted himself forward and in one fluid motion he managed to flip the scrap from his person. The parchment landed somewhere to his side, but he was certain Teague hadn't seen it.

Jack dragged himself out into the open again, sitting almost nose to nose with the older man. He flashed another smile, leaning slightly to the right, hoping to block Teague's line of sight.

"Supposing it's not here. You haven't seen it, have you, da?" he asked, rotating on his knees, careful to lock eyes with Teague – willing him to turn around. The last thing he needed was for the Keeper to see what had become of his beloved Code.

Teague's face remained unmoving, and for a moment Jack wondered if he'd heard him at all. Black eyes flickered towards the wall, then came to rest on him once more as Teague let the tablecloth fall to the floor.

Jack let out the smallest of sighs, hoping that his relief wasn't too obvious.

"Why would I have seen it?" Teague rose to his feet with marked swiftness, and Jack was hesitant to follow, lest he receive another sound blow. He didn't exactly fancy being on the floor, but Teague wasn't wearing his boots, which would surely count for something.

"You've a… habit of seeing things," Jack said, hesitantly standing, arching away from his father, more out of habit than anything.

"Aye," Teague muttered, giving him a cold look before moved past him. "Fetch that note, boy."

The command was so sudden that for a moment, Jack truly didn't know what he meant. "Sir?"

"The one you're lying about – under the table," he said. "I've a way of seeing things, lad," he added, flashing a silver toothed grin. Teague sat at the desk chair, with laced fingers resting casually against his stomach. There was a glint in his eye that chilled Jack's blood.


	4. Chapter 4

**Tiger Wings**

**Part Four**

Jack stood motionless for a time, dreading what was to come. The few steps to the table felt like miles, but the longer he dragged things out, the more irritated his father would be. Jack braced his hands against the table, imagining that he stood before the gallows, waiting for the noose to be slipped about his neck.

Behind him, Teague cleared his throat.

Jack took another shuddering breath, ducking down once more to retrieve his ill-begotten prize. His legs shook as he stood before his father, and he had to fight to keep from outright panicking. Teague already knew what he'd done – surely he had to know.

If not, he soon would.

Teague took the parchment from Jack's shaking hands, unfolding it with care.

Outside, the storm had advanced**, **rain pattering against the upturned hull lightly. Jack shifted his weight, watching Teague with hooded eyes. Lightning flashed again, silhouetting the Keeper for a brief moment. The Devil himself couldn't look more fierce.

He was surprised that Teague didn't upturn the desk to get to him; instead he lay the page down inside the Codex and closed the massive tome. Teague then stood, and though he wasn't overly tall, he still towered over Jack.

They locked eyes for a minute before Teague backhanded him, hard enough to send Jack to the floor. Jack tasted blood, and his face stung fiercely from the blow. He thought his lip might've split again, but it was already too sore to tell.

"You've done some damnable mischief before, Sparrow, but this tops it," Teague growled.

Jack blinked back tears as he sat up stiffly. "Kenny Freeling stole my knife," he bit out. Teague would wheedle the truth from him, best be done with it now.

The grizzled pirate stood stock still, staring transfixed at him, an oddly vacant expression taking over his features. Whatever he'd expected from Teague, that certainly wasn't it. Jack almost wished he'd been kicked – it would've been predictable, but now he had no idea what to prepare for.

"You…" Teague began, shaking his head as though to clear it. "Stole from the Codex, for a knife?"

It seemed a painfully obvious solution to Jack – a death conjured by poison was surely preferable to a blade to the gut. Poison couldn't be that terrible. Or perhaps it was an even worse fate… Jack hadn't really thought that far ahead.

He made to speak, but Teague cut him off. "Thicker than a bull's cock. Do you call that a head on your shoulders or a blessed dead eye?" As dull as he'd seemed a moment ago, Teague was twice as animated now. A tic along his jaw pulsated as his eyes went wide – he looked crazed, and in that moment, Jack fully understood what terror was.

Jack's heart slammed to a stop. His eyes focused on Teague's hands, which twitched at his side – there was no faster a shot that the Keeper and Jack wouldn't stand a chance if the man went for his gun.

Jack's mouth floundered open, mind reeling to piece together a coherent answer, but before he could get a word out, he found himself being hauled through the air. He let out a scream (it was decidedly not a shriek) only to find himself dangling in front of Teague like a worm on a hook.

"Blame your own self for your death," Teague muttered.

The next moment was a blur; he found himself lying on his belly, doubled over Teague's knee, though he had no idea how he'd gotten there. He didn't recall Teague moving, but he knew Teague hadn't been sitting the entire time.

Jack ground his teeth together, burying his face against Teague's leg. His entire body went rigid, awaiting the first blow. It had force enough to knock the wind from him, as a flash of white light exploded behind his eyelids. Or perhaps it was simply the lightning.

Another blow, just as sharp as the first. Jack knew the first few minutes would be hell, especially given Teague's rage. He could only muster thought enough to long for numbness to set in, but it would be a good while before that came.

Tears began to brim once more, but he refused to let them fall. It would only give Teague more reason to hate him. Jack sucked in a quick breath, counting the seconds until the next hit.

It never came.

Jack squinted one eye open and saw Sala standing before him. If there were such things as Angels, his mother was surely the finest of them all.

His parents talked in harsh tones, though they sounded as though they were talking from a great distance, voices muffled. Jack couldn't make out a blessed word and he thought he should be fairly grateful for it, but was too shocked to feel anything just yet.

His feet touched the floor, and he was suddenly shielded by a warmth of bright skirts and sashes. Had he his senses, he might've been embarrassed by Sala's need to protect him; he was eight years old and didn't need to be coddled like a babe.

Instead he peered around his mother with wide eyes, half worried that Teague's rage might not be quelled so readily this time.

"You're going to kill him," Sala insisted, hands on her hips, further preventing Teague from snatching at him.

"Nothing less than he deserves. Boy stole from the Code."

Sala turned to look at Jack, but he could only offer the flash of a nervous smile in defense.

"Oh," Sala sighed. Jack shrunk back, worried that she might oversee his punishment – it would surely be better than his previous sentence, but no less painful.

"Teague," she scoffed, "He's only a child. What harm could he possibly cause?"

All the air rushed from his lungs, and Jack found himself clutching at Sala's skirts to keep from toppling over. It was one thing to defend him, but to go against the Code Keeper's judgment?

Teague seemed to be thinking the same thing, for his eyes flickered between the two of them, black and fathomless.

A decision was made.

"Out."

Jack took one last glance at his mother, who stood resolutely before Teague, tall and statuesque. This wasn't his battle anymore and he'd be a fool to try and fight it.

He didn't need telling twice. Jack turned on his heel, and then skittered out the door, not daring to cast a look behind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Tiger Wings**

**Part Five**

Jack fell against the wall, panting hard. His shirt had started to dry out from the morning's rain, but rivulets of sweat trailed down his back. He hadn't realized how scared he was until it was over with.

Not that it was over yet – there was still the matter of his punishment. Sala might let him skirt some things, as a mother was wont to do, but she had a penchant for teaching a lesson and would never let this opportunity pass her by. And Teague… Well, that was a given.

Jack shuddered, wiping his brow. Mum could only protect him from so much, and the Code was definitely breaching new boundaries. Although Teague knew of the knife, Jack was still honor bound to retrieve it, and if bringing Kenny the Code was the only way, then Jack would just have to try again. No doubt Teague would place the book under lock and key under Smithson's watchful eye, but he reasoned that there had to be another way.

He lifted his head from the wall, eyeing the corridor suspiciously. He'd never been caught eavesdropping before, but if there was ever a time to risk capture, it was today – he'd already be hocked and heaved for his earlier transgressions. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, he thought grimly. The voice sounded eerily like the Keeper's.

Jack leaned over, craning his neck as he looked for any sign of Smithson, but it seemed that the quartermaster had taken his leave. Jack then crept towards the Library once more, trailing his hands along the wood. It didn't take long to find a niche in the worn hull.

Jack pulled the knot from the wall, hesitating for only a moment before he pressed his eye to the hole. Sala stood to the side, unmoving; a stormy expression darkened her face. The desk chair was empty, but Jack was sure Teague was pacing about like a caged animal, restless and irate.

"I could hear you carrying on across the hall," Sala said tersely. Her brow was furrowed, face taut in fury. Jack had seen her like this few times in the past and only once on his account. It was alarming in itself – at least with Teague you knew the limits of his temper.

"He needs to learn," Teague growled, headed towards the door. Sala took off after the pirate, a purpose in her step.

Jack nearly gave himself whiplash as he turned, hands braced against the wall as he prepared to run. The corridor remained silent, save for the rain drizzling outside. He let out a shaky breath, heart stuttering, then pressed his eye to the hole once more.

"If you keep going on like this, there won't be anything left of him to teach," Sala hissed, voice rushed and tight. Jack strained his neck, trying to spy his parents. He could see Sala grasping Teague's arm, though both of their faces were obscured.

Teague shifted, pulling away from her, glaring as he paced. "He defiled the Codex," he said as though it explained everything. "Anyone else would've been strung up for thinking it, let alone acting on it."

Jack doubted that anyone would live long enough to see the noose.

"He's a child," Sala seethed, doggedly following on Teague's heel. "Yet you treat him like a criminal."

The Keeper gave her a side-long look – one that Jack was well acquainted with. Teague thought her a fool.

"Give him time," Teague said, lip curled. It was no secret that Sala wanted him to grow up respectable, the fact had always been a sore point for the Keeper.

Sala's eyes flashed.

His remark hit home, for she let out a derisive laugh, coming to a halt. "What's more important? The book or your son?" she demanded.

Teague whirled on her, coat and sash whipping around. "It's not a matter of favorites," he said, voice low and grave. "The Code is the law." Jack rolled his eyes, having heard the line a million times over. "And I'm bound to uphold it."

He didn't doubt that Teague would defend the book over him. It was a chilling thought, causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise. Jack rubbed his neck self-consciously, cursing himself for letting the realization unnerve him.

"Do you really think he's a threat? A boy playing with his father's work? Hardly some riffraff out to topple the Brethren."

"The Code is no game." The look Teague shot Sala would've caused a lesser soul to wither, but she held her ground. "He might not pose a threat, but he's a damnable fool at times. There's no telling whose hands it could've wound up in."

"Those Cove boys are no more a threat than their drunken fathers," Sala replied hotly. Jack couldn't help but agree – most pirates who stayed at the Cove were too old, soused, or otherwise incapable of posing any sort of threat. Although with Teague, every petty deed became a well planned attack against the Codex.

"He takes after you," Teague muttered, shaking his head as wandered over to the back wall. Jack watched Sala carefully, heat rising to his own cheeks. It was one thing if Teague insulted him, but no one insulted his mother.

Sala snorted, rolling her eyes. "And you're such a good man," she said quietly. Jack couldn't see Teague's face, but he was certain his teeth were bared.

A guitar whined out of sight – a hand trailing unbidden. "He knows better; there are rules he's to follow and if he can't bide by them…"

"You'll what? Cast him out? He's eight."

"He's a year more than I was." A knot formed in Jack's stomach, dread and hate churning within. Teague often said things in anger, but Jack could never quite tell when he was serious. He had seen other kids living in the streets – filthy, starving and half mad – none of them made for good company.

"He's no sooner living in the streets than you," Sala said, arms crossed in annoyance. Teague must be ranting, or else she would be more upset. Jack's shoulder's sagged in relief, but it did nothing to quell his resentment towards his father.

"You always talk of patience, but have none for him," Sala continued, leaning against the desk. While she wasn't intimidating like Teague, she was far too stubborn to give in.

"Job wouldn't have patience enough." Teague had slowed his pace, walking from the desk to the stern, one hand caressing the wall and shelving as he passed.

"So you'd rather kill him," Sala huffed. "He doesn't mean harm, Teague. If you'd talk to him, you'd know that."

"What then? Shall I just hand him off the page and ignore the issue? 'Mind it don't run off into foul hands and be sure not to sully it – might be needed later.'"

Sala rolled her eyes again, propping one leg against the desk. "I'm not telling you to ignore it; I'm telling you to talk to him."

Teague scoffed. "Load of good that'll do."

"Do not blame God for having created the tiger, but thank him for not having given it wings," she said loftily.

A grin crept onto Jack's face.

It was Teague's turn to roll his eyes. "He may not've taken off with it, but there's no telling what mischief he'd have gotten into if he hadn't been caught."

Jack frowned again. Mayhap it was better that his father had caught him; if he'd been accused of plotting murder, a spanking would be the least of his troubles. He wasn't particularly sure that Teague would spare him from the gallows.

"You've such patience, you talk to him."

Jack's hopes perked up – Sala would be far more reasonable than Teague. A few well played apologies, and perhaps a week without seeing his friends, and he'd be off scot-free.

"No."

Jack groaned, clapping a hand to his mouth after the fact. No one had heard.

"He'll never learn, nor care to. The number of times I've talked to him and he's still all mischief."

"He's not trying to upset you."

"Doing a fine job of it," Teague interrupted, scowling.

"Honestly, Teague, have you never done a shameful thing?" Sala shot back, her own patience running thin.

The effect her comment was met with was startling. Teague's lower lip twitched, his hand falling limply to his side. Whereas he'd looked resolute before, now he only seemed tired. Jack took careful notice of the way he avoided meeting Sala's eyes.

"Has nothing to do with it," Teague muttered, brushing past her and sitting heavily at the chair. Jack held his breath, eager to see what could possibly bother the Keeper so greatly. He was left disappointed – that gambit would have to be sought out later.

"Donnagán." It was a command all in itself, softly spoken but stern.

"Damn your eyes," Teague said, rubbing his temples wearily. "Send the lad in, I'll have a word... And don't give me that look, wench. I'll not lay hand to him."

Jack leapt away from the wall, hastily shoving the knot back in its rightful place. He then sat a good way away from the door, fiddling with his shirt as if he'd been mildly bored with the whole affair.

The door opened and he strained to make out Sala's final comment to the pirate. "Just don't be a bastard, Teague. He's already been terrorized enough."

Jack bit the inside of his check hard to keep from grinning. He'd often times dreamt of calling Teague such things, but was neither that brave, nor foolish. Teague held more respect for Sala than anyone; he'd tolerate the barb, and what's more, see to her biding. There would likely be some miserable chore he'd be set to, but physical abuse was no longer a threat.

Jack straightened as Sala glided towards him – it was only proper that he pay her some respect. Now wasn't the time for bumbling gratitude, but his mind was already working, plotting how best to repay her kindness.

"Go see him. Whatever he decides is final," Sala warned as she walked past, silver eyes settling upon him. She wasn't pleased, but she'd surely spared his life today; of that, Jack was positive.

He stood meekly, flashing a glimmer of a smile at Sala before he slid back into the Library, careful to keep the latch from sticking as he closed the door. It was best to practice caution in times like these.


	6. Chapter 6

**Tiger Wings**

**Part Six**

Teague sat at the desk, fingers playing along the edges of the Book, his eyes fixed on a distant point in space. Jack stood immobile, waiting to be noticed. The tension of the room had eased, though Jack remained wary. The patter of rain was soft against the glass, and it cast a grayish light that filled the room with shadows.

The silence dragged. Jack concentrated on standing still, aware that Teague couldn't abide his fidgeting. He watched Teague from the corner of his eye, but save for the random riffling of pages, the man had not moved. Minutes passed before Teague lifted his hand to scratch his chin. Without looking at Jack, he whispered into the gloom.

"What _exactly_ were you thinking?"

No sense in lying any longer, Jack thought, Teague knew most of the truth, and he may as well hear the rest. He pulled himself a little taller and started at the beginning.

"He stole my knife."

The answer hung in the air a moment. Then, Teague leveled his gaze on Jack.

"And…?"

"And I offered to trade for a look at the Code."

Teague's eyes darkened, and though stationed well away from him, Jack took a small step backward.

"My thinking only, son, but it appears you did more'n _look_."

The sarcastic tone bode well for Jack; it proved Teague had gained control of his rage. He watched Teague rise and circle the room, his hand drifting over his possessions.

"When I was your age," he began, and Jack cringed. Any story of Teague's that began this way was usually meant as a lesson for Jack. "I had nothing. Living on whatever garbage fell my way. Sleeping in the streets. Left for dead too many times to count. With naught but that knife to see me through." He paused and studied Jack a moment before continuing. "Made my share of mistakes, but never in my lifetime did I let someone take what was mine."

Jack looked at his toes, feeling defeated. In light of Teague's speech, he thought it best to keep quiet.

"So. You lost your knife to a bully, and chose to amend this great crime by defacing the Code? Save this, there was no better way?"

Posited such, Jack had to admit it did sound a rather foolish enterprise.

"What was I to do?" He asked, and was almost successful in keeping the whine from his voice.

"What a man _can_ do. Stand up for yourself. Hang onto what's yours, and just as a point of reference, son, 'tis never wise to offer a thing what belongs to a better man! That's courting disaster."

"You don't want me fighting!"

"You'll never win with yer fists, Jackie! Now don't pout – you're built strong but smaller than some and if you try it that way, you're bound to lose. There'll always be someone bigger."

Teague must have sensed Jack's exasperation for he paced close to him and growled softly in his ear.

"Use yer wit, boy! Bide your time, and you buy yourself a lot less trouble. Only one thing they care about – getting the best of you. Long as you keep 'em blinded by that, you can run 'em aground. Plenty of opportune moments with each turn of the tide."

Jack was thoughtful for a moment. It held the element of truth, so much so, he wished Teague would practice it to temper his explosive rage. But, true or not, Jack had invested too much to give up that easily.

"I need that," he said, pointing to the Codex and taking two steps toward the desk, the look on Teague's face bringing him up short. "I need it to get my knife back."

"No denying you think you do."

There was only one way Teague would understand, so Jack played his final card, praying as he did that the overhead promise to Sala would be kept, and Teague would lay no further hand upon him.

"He means to kill his father."

Teague scrutinized Jack, his devil's eye sharp and studious.

"That bad is it? Worse'n this?" Teague asked, indicating the bruise forming on Jack's jaw.

Jack pictured Kenny's face, and remembered the ominous absence of his brother from the quay that morning. Then he thought of himself and Teague and the rough handling so recently tendered. Much as he wanted to compare Teague to Kenny's drunken sire, Jack knew that Kenny's beating was unwarranted and that his – as was often the case – had been well-deserved.

He met Teague's eye, unflinching.

"Aye, da. Worse'n this."

Teague's eyes narrowed as he nodded, and Jack felt a momentary twinge of fear for Kenny Freeling's father.

"'Twas a recipe for poison," Jack mumbled, as if needing some final absolution.

"Say again, lad?"

"A recipe. For poison. I'd get back my knife and Kenny – "

"Poison! You thought…?" Teague was silent a moment, then a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. "Planning murder and mayhem under me own roof, eh? Poison." Teague shook his head. "Aye. A right witch's brew if ever I knew one, 'twould surely kill the devil."

Jack thought he detected a glimmer of laughter in the dark of Teague's eye.

"Damn your mother's eyes if they don't…she sees more things than God in his finest hour ever had cause to make. You owe her your life, son, in more ways than you know. You best thank her next time you see her; she's a knack for knowing the difference between a boy's folly and a man's greed."

This time there was no mistaking Teague's smirk, and it made Jack feel foolish enough to question him.

"Sir?"

"Never mind, lad." Teague said, sitting again at the desk. He ran his thumb along the edge of the Book and hummed a tuneless ditty.

For the first time since he'd been caught, Jack found himself relaxing. Something had changed, something he couldn't quite name, something to do with Sala. Before he could puzzle it through, Teague spoke.

"The Code has a history, 'tis a book of law. Much as you think this be the way to end your troubles, be naught but trading one misfortune for another." He paused, running his hand across the face of the book. "There's certain things a boy your age need handle on his own. Opportune moments, Jackie. Best you don't forget them."

He blew out a breath and lighted a lamp. Its soft glow spilled a circle of light around the huge tome. With the same glint of laughter in his eye, Teague continued. "Now, if you mean to run with thieves, best learn to be a proper pirate. Pull up a chair, son, and we'll start at the beginning."

Jack glanced at the Codex with dread. Almost as big as he and every page crammed with writing, it would take months for them to read it through. Months away from his friends, stuck indoors, trapped under Teague's strict tutelage and subject to his rash temper. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he pulled a stool next to Teague and said goodbye to his freedom.

Just before Teague began to read, the thought entered Jack's mind that he may have been better off had Sala left him to his beating.

**Epilogue**

It was four days before Jack made an appearance on the docks, and only then because Sala insisted he be allowed out into the fresh air and sunshine. Still without his knife, it seemed providential that Kenny was the first to see him.

"Caught you, did he?"

Jack smiled. The answer was as plain as the bruise on his face, and Freeling's question struck him as funny.

"Aye," he said, and then ducked his head, suddenly ashamed of himself, of Teague, of the evidence of his beating.

Kenny peered at his face. With a gesture familiar to all the boys, as they had seen him use it with his brother, Kenny took Jack's chin in hand and turned it toward the sun, testing the bruise with his thumb.

"Ah, Jackie Sparrow, lookie you!" Kenny shook his head. "D'ya at least get a chance to see the Codex?"

"I ripped a page from it," Jack whispered, horrified by what he had done.

Freeling laughed, a hearty sound from deep in his belly.

"Mother Mary, you're a wonder!" Kenny's voice was filled with pride. "Never thought you'd do it. Boys, come lookie Sparrow! Hah! Thought we'd seen the last of ya."

Jack looked up with a sheepish grin and shrugged, "I thought he was gonna kill me."

"They never do," Kenny mumbled, quiet enough for only Jack to hear.

With a squeeze to Jack's shoulder, Kenny wandered away and entreated Mickey Kitchell to tell the one about the yellow cat that chased two rats across Captain Randall's dinner. As Jack made to follow him, he felt a familiar weight on his hip. The knife was back in its sheath.

Small though he might be, Jack was the best pickpocket in the Cove, and Teague wasn't the only one who could recognize an opportune moment.

Jack watched Kenny's mouth fall open in surprise as he realized the knife had gone missing. Jack grinned at him, tapping the hilt at his waistline and then laughed out loud when he saw Kenny's answering smile.

For the first time in days, Jack Sparrow felt free.

* * *

**The recipe Jack stole is for Kill-Devil, a drink made by fortifying rum with gunpowder. It was reportedly favored by Blackbeard. The drink is traditionally lit on fire before consuming. To Jack, it sounded like something that could kill you. Smart guy, our Jackie!


End file.
